


Fire In My Veins

by justmariamay



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Batfamily Feels, Blood and Gore, Bloodlust, Gen, Manipulation, Original Character Death(s), Prison, Rage, Red Lantern Jason, Transformation, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmariamay/pseuds/justmariamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Black and red are Jason's favorite colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had a huge writer's block and decided to try something new. I love Jason and I love Red Lanterns (and Sinestro Corps, love them too). An idea of Jason as Red Lantern has always fascinated me. I've seen some fanart but never found any fics. So, this is how it could happen in my opinion.

Jason felt stupid. He could have escaped while being transferred from Arkham. But he lost that opportunity and now he's in Blackgate prison in his cell with his cellmate lying on the cold floor with broken jaw and probably concussion. Bastard thought he could show a newcomer who's the boss. Well, obviously not this big fat piece of shit.

At least he isn't in Arkham, that place reminded him of his own grave too much. Bruce put him there hoping to 'fix' him. But he isn't broken. That snakepit only proved that he was sane. For his part Jason never doubted his mental health, but Bruce... ah, fuck Bruce. Fuck Dick. Fuck Replacement. Just fuck them all. He has something else to think about. Like how to get out of here. He knows that Blackgate is not that secure. Hell, he met and fought those who made it out of here. No prison will hold him. Not when the damn clown is somewhere in Gotham. His Gotham.

Guards come and take his cellmate later satisfied by Jason's answer that the guy just fell. Seems like this kind of unfortunate accidents is common here. All better for him.

Next day Jason spends examining the place and its inhabitants. And oh, how well he knows their kind, after all he grew up in Crime Alley, he was on his way to become one of them. Most of them are petty criminals: thieves, dealers, frauds, henchmen, of course there are more than enough murderers and rapists too, but as far as he knows no one from high league villains. They watch him too, he's new here and already put down big bad Jax (his roomie). Some eye him with suspicion, some (mostly young guys) with awe, some with poorly concealed lust. Guards are mostly deaf and blind unless something 'really bad' happens. All the rest is ignored and honestly, Jason can't blame them. This prison is overpopulated, staff is lacking to control every damn thing.

At first no one approaches him and he's damn fine with it. But hey, every prison has unspoken rule that you have to stick with someone or else you are going to be messed with constantly.

In the yard a skinny dude cautiously patters to him. Jason is smoking a cigarette he recently pick pocketed. He hasn't smoked quite some time.

"So, Miles..." Mark Miles, an alias Bruce gave him. To preserve his own secrets of course. "What are you here for?"

For being a better Batman than Bruce. For being better for Gotham. For willing to do what has to be done. For being alive.

"Stole some tires, among the other things." This isn't even a lie.

"Sure you did," well, Jason hasn't hoped anyone would buy it. "They say you are here for long. Might as well make some friends, no?"

No. But Jason doesn't have to articulate it. Skinny just shrugs.

"Suit yourself, kiddo. Tell me, if you change your mind."

Skinny walks back to his group and Jason can swear he knows few of them from somewhere. Maybe they are here because of him. Doesn't matter much to him anyway.

Fence... with his skills he can easily top it. Even right now. But he'll probably end up riddled with bullets. If he starts an alarm or something to distract guards. And then he'll need a way back to the yard. He can steal the keys. He can escape this fucking shithole.

Soon enough he found the guard with keys he needs. Jefferson. A decent guy, apparently. If only Jason could stay out of trouble just a little longer. Ha.

He just snaps. He can't help it. He's so fucking angry at all these bastards who think they own the place and do whatever they want to whoever they want. That is exactly why he thinks jail doesn't help much. Some scum should be put down and forgotten. What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh.

It starts with little things: sarcastic comment, an insult or two, hard shove in the shoulder... and voila. He is cornered in the showers by six brutes and guards are nowhere near. One of them managed to tear the pipe from the wall. One goes to watch the entrance. Low ceiling, slippery floor, lack of space... odds are not in his favor. He clenches his fists preparing to fight. And he does, but not for long. They literally fall on him, pining him down. That's how he ends up here.

He is pushed face down on the cold wet floor of prison showers.

"Look at him, boys. Thinks he's better than us, huh," the bald yanked Jason's hair hard.

"I think I saw him before. Dan, remember that... Todd, or what his name was?"

Jason froze. They know him, they know... wait. They can't. It is impossible.

"Now that you said that... yeah, I remember. You don't forget your first kill."

"Thought himself so smart too..."

Jason couldn't believe it. With half an ear he heard those thugs bragging how they beated Willis Todd to death with bats and threw his body into Gotham's bay. Jason remembers little about his father. Only affectionate 'Jay' and smell of cheap tobacco. 'Petty criminal. Presumed dead' he remembers. Killed. For double-crossing Dent. He learned that only after Bruce took him in. For years he had believed dad abbandoned them. And Catherine... she waited and then got hooked on druggs and then... she died from overdose on the bathroom floor. On white tile like this one.

He knows what's about to happen as his shirt is being ripped from his shoulders. But his mind is in that shitty appartment where Catherine... his mother was taking another dose, not hoping her husband would come home. That's it until his eyes catch weird red light coming through draining grate inches from his face. It's faint, but it awakens his senses.

He is angry. But it's not a helpless anger mixed with fear like when Joker was beating him into bloody pulp. No. It's like... like after Lazarus' Pit. Burning suffocating rage that makes blood boil. He gnashes, deep growl is forming in his throat and when it breaks free it sounds almost animalistic. Inhuman. He doesn't listen what they say or yell. All he hears is that monstrous loud laughter piercing his mind. And he sees red.

Red paints white leaking from broken nose. Red smears his knuckles as he strikes again and again. Red oozes from his side as he's stabbed with a grind. Red splashes when he collides the bald head with tile. Red fills his mouth with copper taste. He fights mindlessly, driven by rage and instinct. He is trained well, even in this state his aim is precise and every movement is balanced. They don't know whom they've been fucking with.

Suddenly Jason realizes that there is no one else to fight, but he can't calm down, red mist still cover his eyes. He looks at bodies scattered on the floor, one has only half of his skull, another's head is twisted to the side unnaturally. Those too are dead. He's killed them. He doesn't think what troubles it will bring him. He thinks, good. 

Something red floats at Jason's eye level. A ring. Without thinking Jason outstretches his arm towards it. And ring slips onto his middle finger. It's too big for him, but...

"You have great rage in your heart..." resounds in his head loudly.

"Jason, you belong..." Belong? Jason... belongs? Even a thought seems ridiculous. "...to the Red Lantern Corps," and the ring closes tightly around his finger. He has no time to catch the meaning of this when a guard comes rushing into the showers.

"Hey! What's going on here?!" the guard, not old, but hair streaked with gray.

Jason can't answer him.

"What happened here, kid? You alright?" the guard... Jefferson his name is, Jason remembers, frantically shakes him.

But Jason isn't able to say anything, because everything hurts. Pain is vile. Worse than when Joker was killing him, worse than waking up in your own coffin and realizing no one would help, worse than when Lazarus Pit was healing him, worse than when Bruce chose Joker over him... Every heartbeat is like a strike of that crowbar, only difference is that it's like it was heated incandescent first. Blood is boiling under his skin. He can't breathe. All he can think is that nobody ever paid for all the pain he suffered. But it's not just about him, it never was, it never will be. Jason concentrates hard enough to push away Jefferson before his blood breaks forth through his mouth. He's vomiting crimson liquid out violently, painfully. His body is shuddering in convulsion.

It feels like eternity. There are people yelling and screaming, but Jason has no idea what are they saying. Blood flows out of him, leaving only nasty copper taste in his mouth and sore throat. The last portions of blood are nasty slimy. The last heartbeat signals the start of something... something beyond life. His back hits the floor, but there is no pain. His body is being filled with fire, nothing unnecessary is left.

"Kid?" he feels a touch of cold skin on his heated one. "Fuck, Larry, he's dead!"

Dead? Ah, yes. He is. Dead. Gone. But who cares? He has no one.

"Those are goners too. How the hell..."

"So much blood here... Where the fuck was Sanders?! Where is he now?!"

So much blood everywhere, Jason thinks. Blood of innocent. But here, here the blood of murderers and rapists. Blood so worth spilling.

Jefferson puts his cool fingers on his eyelids and closes his eyes. But even with closed eyes Jason can still see red.

"I'm going to warden! Don't let anyone in. Got it?"

The other guard mumbles something in response.

Jason lies in the puddle of his own blood. He opens his eyes. His body is filled with crushing anger he needs to let out. But first... _swear_ , the ring whispers, _swear your loyalty to me..._

Heavily Jason gets up, first to his knees, then to his feet. Ring whispers and he repeats:

 _"With blood and rage of crimson red,"_ red, all around.  
_"Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead,"_ his corpse? Yes.  
_"Together with our hellish hate,_  
_We'll burn you all -- that is your fate!"_

The oath echoes out, through the walls, into space and further, making Jason a part of something greater he could ever be...

Jason looks down and prisoner's cloths are gone, he's dressed in black and red. His favorite colors. It feels like second skin.

The one who's still alive is awake, he struggles back to his feet and hate radiates from him. He grabs a pipe and wades heavily towards Jason. He doesn't even see Jason, but he wants to destroy him. Jason will destroy him first.

As the vermin aims first blow Jason strikes him with his knee into the solar plexus hard. The pipe is falling from tattooed hand and Jason gets a hold on man's collar. Fire rises up his throat and Jason diesn't swallow it back. Infernal red melts the face in front of him like napalm. This is what runs in his veins now. All consuming fire. The scream dies almost too soon for Jason's liking.

Bare skeleton drops down with a clatter. A guard in the doorway looks at him paralyzed with horror. Jason is angry. But not at the guard. This man is innocent. Joker. Guilty. Batman. Traitor. Egon. Dead. Joker. Joker. Joker must be punished. He will be. And it will be just.

Ducra said his rage made him weak. But right at this moment he feels stronger than ever. Even gravity can't hold him down anymore. Red energy surround him, this place full of bitterness and hatred fuels it. Jason takes off and walls are crushing under his fist. He's free.

_Rage, Jason. Rage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I should continue this. I want to, really, but I have too many ideas and can't decide where to move from here.  
> Anyway, tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estimating the damage.

Something was off. Commissioner Gordon could just feel it on his skin as he entered the Blackgate prison. CDC allowed police and FBI in only now after concluding that whatever it was it's not contagious.

The whole prison has suffered unexplainable outburst of anger which resulted in living nightmare, especially here, in block B. According to surveillance footage people started attacking each other for no apparent reason, small conflicts between inmates escalated quickly. A guard shot another guard and two prisoners. Overall they have under a hundred killed (12 guards among them) and more than a thousand of wounded with injuries of different extent. Unexplainable building damage. Unexplainable skeleton without a particle of flesh. And only one person missing, who is also confirmed dead by reliable witness.

James Gordon saw things. He wasn't born yesterday. He saw war and watched Gotham for decades. But something like this? The closest he remembers resembling this was a fear gas attack. But back then it was panic. Here though... he doesn't even know what to call it. People were killing each other in fits of uncontrollable rage.

Reconstructing the course of events the prison staff concluded incident in the showers was the first. It was literally a bloodbath. His colleagues who were there have bloodstains on their pants. Soon after everyone in Blackgate just burst out. Some of those who were in locked cells broke their hands punching the walls.

Gordon is now interrogating one of the main witnesses.

"Those six... they were from one gang. Two-face's dogs. The kid... Miles, he was here for little more than a week, after Arkham. Quiet for the most part, a loner, but he clearly could stand up for himself. And for others too. And he did. That's what led to that... that..." officer Sam Jefferson has his arms folded on his chest as if he's cold. "That riot," he finally finds the right words.

"Are you telling me they were six against one? And all six ended up dead?" Gordon finds it hard to believe, but nothing about what happened here seems rational.

"He died too," comments Jefferson.

"We never found the body," but amount of blood that belonged to Miles... no man could survive such blood loss. "But what exactly did you see?"

"Me and Larry... officer Coleman came to the showers to check what was all that noise. Officer Sanders was missing from his post. Blood was everywhere. Miles was only one standing, he was covered in blood, had bruises and many wounds from a grind. He was shaking. Larry went to check the bodies. I went to the kid and tried to make him speak. I didn't have to. I knew what happened."

Yes, it wasn't too hard to guess. How it happened that's the question. How one man could kill five other men with bare hands. And what happened to the sixth and to himself?

"Do you mind if I smoke, Commissioner?" asks Jefferson tiredly. He witnessed all that nightmare firsthand, he helped to put an end to it, and still has manners to ask a permission for such little thing.

"Sure, I don't mind, officer."

Jefferson lights a cigarette after the third attempt. His hand are shaking slightly. After a long drag he continues:

"Miles... he puked his blood out. I think most part of it if not all. Must've been some disease. He pushed me away and started vomiting. It was painful to watch... But I was... it's all I could do - watch. I never... He died and I did nothing to help him. He was just lying there with his eyes opened, but he didn't breathe, his heart wasn't beating, just a dead stare," Jim knows what that stare is like. "Then I went to report to Warden and call medics. Before I reached the third floor I heard a scream. One. Second. And then... like all the hell broke loose. Almost everyone just lost their minds. But..."

"But?" asks Commissioner.

"Maybe it's just coincidence, but many attacked those they had some grudge on. Like they always wanted to do this. I don't really know."

That's interesting.

"Did you feel that... whatever caused this?" Jim asked carefully.

Jefferson is pensive. Then he nods.

"I think I did. I... I was so angry. At inmates. At colleagues. At people. At the whole damned world. But most of all at Sanders."

"Of course you were. He left his post and..."

"No, Commissioner," interrupts Jefferson. "I wanted to fucking kill him. If I saw him, I would tear the idiot apart," Jim can hear the horrible honesty in quiet voice.

He doesn't know what else he can ask, because Jefferson has given written detailed report already. And there are others to torture this man with more unimportant questions.

He goes to another witness, Officer Coleman, who now is in medical ward. He is going to Arkham. He's not the only one, whom all this left damaged mentally. Physically he was completely fine, not a scratch, not a bruise. But something scared him to the point he turned into babbling mess. Agent Wright says there is no point talking to him. Maybe not.

The only coherent thing he gets from Coleman is the word 'red'. He keeps repeating it, saying 'red killed him', 'red burnt him'. And it was all.

Jim is relieved to finally get out of Blackgate. He never liked prisons. Of any kind. But Gotham welcomes him back with a good portion of violence. As always. But Blackgate incident isn't settled yet, no matter how much government wants to cover it up as soon as possible.

Commissioner thumbs through the photos from the scene again.

Could it be some gas? But nobody reported seeing or smelling it. It wasn't a disease as CDC concluded. It wasn't anything, but sure as hell it wasn't nothing. Something broke those walls after all.

Gordon is at loss, some pieces just don't fit together. He is on the roof waiting for his old ally. He doesn't have to wait long. Batman and Robin appear out of nowhere like always.

"Commissioner?"

Has he heard what happened? They didn't let the press in. Nobody has made a clear statement yet. But this is Batman. As if reading his mind Batman demands:

"Blackgate. What happened there?"

Gordon looks away at city lights and sighs.

"Nobody knows. But I don't want it to happen again. Ever," he made a pause. "We've got almost a hundred corpses, over a thousand of wounded and one person missing."

"A fugitive?" inquires dark knight.

"A guard witnessed his death. And all that blood... he couldn't survive," this Miles, Batman was the one who put him in Arkham, remembers Gordon. "I suspect that his body could have been burnt with whatever left only bones from one of the prisoners."

"Wha-" starts Robin, but doesn't finish as Batman raises his hand.

Gordon gets a flash drive from his coat pocket. They made a huge job of putting this together. And still the picture was lacking. And it was one of rare occasions, when many services worked together.

"Here everything we found, the cam feeds and interrogation records, files on practically everyone who was part of it. Long story short: everyone got angry and massacre ensued."

Batman is silent and Robin is the one who asks commissioner to elaborate.

"Presumably it all started with this," and he hands them pictures from showers. "There was... a fight. Six assaulted one, all six are dead, and that one left four liters of his own blood, nothing more."

Gordon hands Robin the sheet of paper with picture of Miles with 'Presumed dead' in big letters. Young man with dark hair and almost equally dark heavy bags under his eyes.

"Batman..." Robin's voice has shaken.

"Miles. The one you caught about three weeks ago as I recall. He killed five inmates and then... puked all his blood out."

Batman grabs the picture with... Gordon can't really tell, but he can swear Batman is nervous at least. But Gordon doesn't try to read into it.

"He's dead then," his voice is flat, but it seems forced.

"We never found his body, only blood. Officer Coleman isn't able to tell what exactly he saw," sighs Jim. "There are broken walls, in showers too. And one guard from a watchtower said there was a red flash in the sky. You'll find everything in these files. I need help, Batman. Such things don't happen on their own."

Batman nods slowly.

"I'll look into this," stated Gotham's Dark Knight.

Then Batman and Robin are gone, like they never were here.

Too bad Gordon can't go home yet. Hopefully a cup of coffee can keep him awake for a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this chapter was necessary to bring Batman into action. I think I need help with this fic. Well... lets see where the horrible mess of a plot I made will lead us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed yet, because I wanted to show that me and this mess of a fic are not dead yet.

Jason woke up in one of his hideouts in Gotham feeling the pulsing in the red band on his finger. Putting hand on his chest he made sure once again that his heart doesn't beat anymore. Is it even there? Not that he cares. He feels fine. Much better than before. He lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling. Beyond it there is the world that hates Jason, and Jason hates this world just as much. Only difference that now he has power to withstand it and not break under its weight.  
He sits up and looks down on his chest with strange symbol, it engraved on the ring as well. Jason knew about Lanterns. Not much and mostly about Green and Yellow. Will and Fear. It was in Bruce's files on Hal Jordan, Jason once peeked into. "You belong to Red Lantern Corps"... He never heard of Red Lanterns, but apparently this is what he is now. He isn't freaking out, he really feels like he belongs with this power. It chose him and it isn't going to leave him. He didn't think when he reached for it. He doesn't think about trying to pull the ring off.

Jason looks towards the boarded window and remembers that he wasn't out on the streets for almost a month. Read Hood wasn't. The sun is going down now, he sees pink lines of light in the space between planks. He must be there. He must remind all that scum what they have to fear. He must find Joker and kill him. This time without drama and crowbar and bomb, just kill the monster on the spot. He doesn't need to make Bruce choose again, Jason knows well enough Bruce will never choose him. Whatever made him think otherwise back then. He's getting angry from these thoughts. And ring sends impulses through his skin, encouraging his anger.

Jason is surprised to find out there is water when he turns the tap. Water doesn't cool him down. Probably even Mr. Freeze won't help with it. Cracked mirror shows that the dye disappeared and that blasted lock is white again.

He has to get ready. Jason finds his equipment in the boxes in the corner of the room. He puts on his red helmet, straps a gun and a knife to his thighs, fastens the utility belt and puts on usual leather jacket, only this time he zips it up to hide the symbol on his chest. He shouldn't let Batman or anyone else know. At least not yet, not until he finds the clown and makes few holes in him. He considers putting on gloves too to hide the ring, but alas he doesn't have them here.

When he's out Jason realizes he should have checked what's going on in Gotham. He doesn't even know if Joker still is Arkham or if he has escaped. He does that a lot. But fine. It's not like this city ever changes. It looks the same, it sounds the same, it smells the same, everything is like deja-vu. Like that night when he tried his luck and came with tire iron to the Batmobille.

Only difference is the sensation Gotham gives him tonight. Anger, but not his own. Someone else's. He felt something like this back in Blackgate after he sated his own. But in that prison it was so much stronger, the place was suffocating from unleashed rage. Gotham is different. Jason knows her well enough to understand why. The thing is, Gotham is rarely angry. She's crazy, greedy, vain, cold, desperate, afraid... but angry? No, not really. She loves her misery. She can't live without it. Jason doubts he can teach her to stand up for herself. But he can be angry enough for both of them. He is.

It starts raining when he reaches Crime Alley on the borrowed bike. He's been away long enough for someone else to claim his territory. Despite how poor this part of city is it gives criminals lots of money. And even more opportunities. So no matter how Jason has tried, nothing was enough to purge the filth out of here. His home.

He passes by the girls on their usual spot. The same place they stand all night for decades. They are always here. Girls change, the spot doesn't. They wave to him:

"Hood! We heard Bats got you!"

"He did," admitted Jason.

"It's you, isn't it?" asks the one with pink hair worriedly. She doesn't look more than 15. Jason grits his teeth.

"Yup, the one and only," he reassures. "I've been on 'vacation' a bit too long. Care to fill me on what I've missed?"

They never mind chatting with him, with mask on or without. Few times he talked to them as Robin, much to Bruce's disapproval. They tell him that there is apparently a riot in Blackgate right now. He didn't know about it, it was pretty calm (as much as it could be) when he still was there. It's not his business anyway. But the bastards that sell some new cheap drug that seems to kill a person within a few weeks is his business.

"Remember Rita? Well, that stuff killed her! And now her sister too... she's like a walking corpse!"

Walking corpse, huh... Jason doesn't remember which one was Rita, doesn't know who's Rita's sister. But he cares. He fucking cares. That was always his biggest problem: he always cared too much. Even for a worthless prostitute's life. Or rather death. He's angry, yes. He constantly is. Probably the only reason Bruce took him in was to erase his anger or at least to take it under control. Because Batman was afraid of what the little boy with tire iron would become. But it's not about him and Batman right now. It's about Rita, her sister, the kids and their parents who will poison themselves with some nasty dope.

"How do I find them?" Jason interrupts a story of another unfortunate soul. "I'd like to try that stuff too."

He's glad they can't see his face, because there is that foam on his lips. Girls know what he's about to do and they gladly if a bit fearfully point the direction where Rita bought her last dose. He drives away without saying goodbye.

He drops the bike in the dark stinky alley. Far from here there is a batsignal in the sky. He actually bothers to take off the helmet to spit. Rain drenches his hair in seconds. Streets are empty. He almost doubts he'll see anyone here tonight.

He knows this place. One old bird used to make moonshine in the attic of this ramshackle building ages ago, when people still lived there. But seeing the state of the roof Jason makes the conclusion that basement is more suitable for a lab. Building looks abandoned, but Jason knows better. The homeless, rats and cockroaches are usual inhabitants in such places. Doors and windows are boarded up. Except the emergency exit on the side that is just locked. Maybe he should knock. But his manners leave much to be desired, as Alfred used to say.

Old door flies off the hinges. Immediately Jason hears rattle and footsteps from beneath and the further end of the dark corridor. Suddenly the light are on. Seems like the adress was correct because there are guns pointed at him.

"Shit, it's the Hood!" and they fire at him. That's the only way you greet the Red Hood in this part of city.

Uzis... practical. But those guys obviously lack shooting practice and Jason manages to take them down without much of an effort, but unnecessarily empties all the ammo. He realizes his mistake when a single bullet grazes his neck. Since when he's so careless? Ah, that quivering mess huddled in the corner happens to know how to shoot. But as soon as this walking skeleton realizes what he's done he freezes and drops the gun and it shoots once more making the guy jump. He is head shorter than Jason and looks three times thinner. His round eyes seem to be ready to pop out of the eye sockets as Jason lifts him up by his collar.

"Please, don't kill me!" he begs. "Ah-Ah-I'm not with them! Puh-Please! F-F-F-Find your heart!"

Jason would like to give some sarcastic answer about his heart, but he finds himself unable to speak at the moment. Something strange is happeninng. What the fu... Is he hallucinating? It's like he's the one who took the dose, not this junkie. He can't even understand what's going on, but he can tell it's all in his head. It's all shouting, screeching and rattle and it's too fucking real. His sight is going dark and Jason shoves little basard away and leans against the dirty wall. All of sudden he's aware of pain in his shoulder. He isn't bleeding. He bled out completely already.

When Jason comes back to his senses the junkie is nowhere to be seen. Good for him. He notices his ring blinking, whatever has just happened to him it's most likely connected to it. He'll have to ponder on it later. He'll have to ponder on many things.  
The lab (if one has a nerve to call it that) is really in the basement. It stinks. Strong smell of hydrocarbons attacks his nose even through his mask. Petrol. Fuckers. No wonder this stuff kills people so fast and how it's so cheap. Just no class whatsoever. Jason is surprised nobody has dealt with this yet. And no, he doesn't mean police or Batman, he means the drug dealers of bigger caliber. Sighing he kicks down a jerrycan of petrol and watches transparent liquid flow on the concrete floor. Matchbox next to a spiritlamp catches his eyes. He strikes a match and lets everything sink in the fire. Everything. Everything around and inside, everything that's past or presence. He knows most of it will return from ashes too soon for his liking. And yet... Jason still refuses to understand that everything has changed. Nothing's gonna be the same ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drugs made with petrol is not a bullshit BTW, happened in my hometown. Somehow one chapter turned into three, so update should be soon if I don't stumble over some completely stupid things. And yes, guys, feel free to critisize me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes to Gotham.

"When were you going to tell me?" Dick is agitated but can't find a will to shout. He took the first train from Bludhaven when Babs contacted him. "Why do I have to learn these things from Barbara? And almost week after!"

"There is nothing to tell yet," cuts off Bruce. And hell if Dick can tell what exactly is on his mind. Gosh, it's hard to talk about it and talking to Bruce is even harder.

"Nothing?! I didn't even know he was transferred to Blackgate!" Dick doesn't speak Jason's name. "And now he's..." he can't make himself say it.

"Presumed dead," finishes Bruce coldly.

"You think he's not," it's not even a question, because yes, Dick has troubles to believe it either. "But you wouldn't tell me anyway, huh?" because Bruce told him nothing, when Jason died, he learned about the funeral from Alfred weeks after. Like it was not Dick's business. And this... also isn't.

But Dick cared. If not for Jason, then for other people that died and suffered there. Media was very hush-hush about the Blackgate incident, still the casualties count... more like massive terrorist attack, than prison upheaval. Babs sent him the police reports. He saw some camera feeds and what he witnessed made him sick. People were slaughtering each other, most of them with their bare hands. Nobody tried to use the erupted chaos to escape. And ironically only Jason was missing after everything calmed down. Or his body. Dick shakes his head in denial. It can't be that simple. Jason couldn't just die and disappear leaving only bare bones of another inmate. And Bruce knows it maybe even better than Dick.

"I'm staying, Bruce. At least until it's over," no one has to specify that it isn't over despite what governance hopes for. And before Bruce can reply, Dick states: "Don't worry, I'll make myself useful."

"I know," nods Bruce and turns away to the monitor.

Dick returns to his room to catch some sleep. At least nothing changes in here. Sprawled on the bed he gets stuck in between sleep and wake, barely aware of what's going on in his head. He has worn himself down since he received Barbara's files.  
Bruce didn't tell what he thought of it, not really. But Bruce wouldn't be Bruce, if he didn't think Jason had some big part in the whole mess. Maybe he did, some evidences point very clearly that it all started with him. But Dick can't blame Jason, because he didn't start that fight. Six inmates cornered him in showers. A lump sticks in his throat from thinking what kind of lesson they tried to teach Jason. Bring him down, debase or simply kill... Dick presses hills of his palms into his tired eyes.  
Someone knocks on his door and he unwillingly gets up and opens the door.

"Tim?"

"Dick, I umm... I'm sorry. About Jason. I know you think of him as a brother," Tim says uncertainly.

"I do. He is my brother, just like you are," Dick confirms.

Tim nods with a strained smile. Dick knows what he wants to say, but doesn't.

"Look, maybe you could go to Arkham tomorrow? Talk to that guard?" Dick know which one. Officer Coleman. Tim explains: "It's not a sure bet, but it could worth a shot. There is a chance he's more coherent now."

Dick doubts it, but it's not like they have many clues.

"Sure, Timmy, I'll do that. Better Officer Grayson than Batman, huh..." he agrees.

"In this particular case," this time Tim smiles genuinely. "You should catch some sleep. Wake you up for dinner?"

"Yeah, I missed Alfred's cooking," now Dick is finally dozing off.

The las thing he hears is the door closing behind Tim with soft creak before he falls into dreamless sleep.

Dinner passes in awkward silence and even Dick finds hard to break it. Even when Bruce and Tim go on the patrol and he sits in the kitchen alone with Alfred with a cup of tea in his hands he doesn't know what to talk about. He blurts out only one thing:

"It's going to be alright, Alfred."

He doesn't even know what he means exactly and if it's addressed to Alfred or himself. But Alfred understands. He always does. Old man puts hand on his shoulder and says:

"I know, Master Richard. I know."

Dick barely slept expecting or even hoping that Batman and Robin will need Nightwing's support. And he also asked Oracle to help him with his tomorrow visit to Arkham. She was just as skeptical about this as him, but promised that he would be allowed to enter and speak to that guard.

Arkham walls are grim as ever despite the rare for Gotham warm and sunny weather. Security lets him in after he presents his badge. They show him to the office (an interrogation room with glass walls) in the end of the ward full of cells with same glass walls. It's unnerving, but it's not like he's here for the first time. And not for the first time he has grit his teeth and silently pass by the Joker without looking at him.

The guard leaves him and unrestrained patient alone. Well, Dick isn't worried, he's not that type of crazy to try to claw his yes out.

"Officer Coleman, I'm Richard Grayson, from the police."

Man in mid thirties, tall, obviously not weak, but hunched shoulders make him seem much smaller. And there is something childish in the downcast eyes and the way he bites his thumb.

"Officer Coleman?" Dick tries again. "Larry?"

There is recognition in man's haunted eyes.

"Larry, I need to ask you few questions."

"Questions..." he repeats lamely. "As in what made you crazy, Larry? What frightened big brave Larry? Those questions?"

Dick has to answer honestly.

"Yes, I'm afraid."

But it seems he bought the man in front of him with his straight answer.

"They won't let me out of here if I tell," it is something.

"It will stay between you and me, Larry, I promise."

"I don't know why I should believe you," a nervous chuckle passes patient's lips. "Fine, I don't care... listen then. There was a monster. The one you can meet only in nightmares. Devil himself looked me in the eye."

Monster?..  _Ignore this for now._

"But what happened to those inmates?"

"There was only one inmate left alive. Devil burnt that trash with his fire breath and left the building," Coleman looks at Dick and bursts out with hysteric laugh. "That's what I saw. Red and black and fire, officer."

The guy is clearly crazy, but it could be something else, whatever he refers to as the devil.

"One last question, Larry. What happened to Mark Miles?"

Coleman's mouth twitches.

"Jefferson made a report, didn't he? Miles died, bled out in the worst way possible, right before my eyes."

He clearly has little wish to talk about it. But Dick needs to know.

"But where is his body?"

"Why would anyone care? That kid was alone in whole world, just another orphan... who cares that Satan took him?"

Dick wants to yell that it's not true, wants to make this crazed man speak clearly... He hits table with his fist but Coleman doesn't even notice, mumbling to himself. Upset Dick stands up and makes a sign to the guard to open the door. Reading the emotions in Dick's expression the guard just shrugs and throws a pitiful look at Coleman.

As he goes back he reflects on what he heard and it makes him think of only one reasonable explanation, which is.... Dick stops abruptly in front of Joker's cell. He wanted to just pass by and ignore the bastard, but something here is amiss.

"Officer?" calls him an orderly few meters away but Dick shushes him.

He stops and listens. Yeah, the man behind glass wall is laughing and sneering as always. But soon Dick distinguishes the sounds that are more like sobs than laughter. He is turned to the wall and his shoulders are shaking... no, he is shivering all over. Sickening suspicion creeps into Dick's mind. _No, not now..._ Gurgling sounds becomes louder and the man with green hair start beating his head against the wall, not with much force, but...

Dick shouts to the orderly:

"Call the doctor, now!"

Something about his tone and face must be serious enough, because nurse doesn't question him and hurries outside the ward's door. A doctor comes hastily in a minute.

"Officer? What's wrong? Did he do something?"

Dick doesn't know how to put it. He runs his hand over his face.

"Doctor, I think Joker has escaped."

"Wha-?"

"This is not the Joker," he points at the poor man in the cell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is lost. And then he's found.

Jason is lost. This time figuratively and literally. His ring is glowing brightly. He doesn't remember how he got here. But he remembers how he tore this man's throat with his own two hands and stabbed two others. He knows why he did it. A naked mutilated dead body of a young girl on the concrete floor is good enough reason for him. Another girl who is alive stares at him with big eyes, clearly scared. She wriggles when he approaches to cut the tape she's tied with. When Jason finally unstuck tape from her mouth she whispers:

"Who are you?"

Jason understood the question, but it's not English words, it's not a language Jason is familiar with, some of many dialects across the China, maybe. But what surprises him more, he knows how to answer.

"Nobody," no accent, it sounds pure. He could say Red Hood, the helmet is on him, but he doesn't.

The girl is bawling her eyes out as she throws her arms around him. She thanks him in between sobbing. She thanks him for saving her, for killing them. Jason doesn't want to hug her back, but does it anyway. She is so fragile, so easily broken. He was just like her. Weakness is unfair. World is unfair.

When he gets her out, killing few more goons on the way, he finally asks:

"Where are we? What is this city?"

"Kowloon," the girl says.

Hong-Kong... Yes Jason lately often finds himself in unexpected places beating shit out of some sick bastards, but this time he's on another continent. This crazy ring. But he can't complain. He was needed here, no one else would've helped. But he knows that the ring didn't react on danger, it reacted on this girl's anger and grief for her friend. That's how this thing works. It's not salvation. It's justice. Justice he never got from Bruce. Well, it's not like anyone can save everyone.

It's hard to concentrate, hard to just stop and think. Should he even return to Gotham? Of course, he has to. He must. This ring can make him fly. And fly fast. It can make him a lot of things, but more often it controls him and not the other way around.  
It was so easy that first time in Blackgate. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to do something with it. Anything. And it works. He feels light tickle of energy on his skin and then he can't feel the ground underneath.

Is that how Superman always feels? It's cold up here, but air is clear, only rarefied. But Jason doesn't need oxygen anymore, that fire in his veins circulates without it. And yet the feeling is intoxicating. Feeling of ultimate freedom, exact opposite of the wooden box or a narrow cell. Here and now he can enjoy it. How did he miss that every time ring took him somewhere? For now he can just be. So he flies without direction, anywhere... just for a little while.

He lost all sense of time when on his way to who knows where he sees the red flash in the gray night sky and someone or something dressed in similar suit as Jason flies right into him and they collide hard. Jason finds himself in the hole his body made on empty highway. The trespasser lands on his two gracefully not far from him. He is definitely not human. Humanoid. Red skin, line of white sharp teeth and blazing eyes. He looks like a monster from a comic book.  
"Hello... Jason," the red face grinned.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"My name is Atrocitus," suddenly Jason realizes they both are not speaking any language he knows at the moment. Jason is sure it's not even a human language. "I'm here to congratulate you. Now you are part of Red Lanterns Corps."

That's what he was told. But...

"What exactly that's supposed to mean?"

"Why asking when answer is clear as day? I see you follow your purpose just fine. Now the Sector 2814 is under your watch too. Hmm, you are the second Red lantern from this planet, but the first one... well, you'll meet him someday," he looks very amused at the thought, but things haven't become any simpler for Jason.

"Sector?"

"Now this city you think yourself bound to is not your only responsibility. Red Lantern Corps is about Justice, Jason. Unlike Green Lanterns and Sinestro Corps who are all about Order, or so they think," alien spat in disgust.

"Can we have this dramatic talk about justice after I take care of some business?" because Jason isn't in the mood for the big talks about purpose at the universal level.

"Business you say? Oh, you are enraged... I suppose that means it's important business."

"I will have my justice," Jason says with determination, "And then you'll tell me everything else," Jason doesn't like this guy, he gives him chills. But something inspires sort of respect for his cause. Their cause, now.

"Good," agrees Atrocitus. "But first... prove me you do deserve this power."

"A test? Really? Are we in middle school?" Jason loses patience.

"Afraid of trials? Well, even with your mask on I can see you are just a child."

Red alien infuriates Jason. On purpose, so it seems. But Jason humors him and rushes forward with all he's got. And he's got a lot. This time he doesn't resist and gives in to the red he sees. Atrocitus doesn't move a muscle. First attack hits the air as the alien lifts up and looks down at Jason mockingly. Angry roar tears his throat and pushes through the red plastic surface of his helmet. He follows the first urge to empty all the ammo he's left at that smug mug and unsurprisingly bullets melt as they touch the red barrier around the red flesh. He still not sure the mechanics of this power, but it comes naturally to him as he takes off the wet asphalt. He was never taught how to fight like this, with some superpowers, but if Jason is anything it's adaptable. He found a way from six feet underground, sure he can adjust to this.

But not at once, it seems. Jason is clumsy up here and Atrocitus isn't ashamed to use it. Newly fledged Lantern feels burning foam on his lips, but he holds it back behind the mask. The alien's strikes are ruthless, but Jason can barely feel any pain behind the growing anger and frustration. His efforts only entertain the bastard. Suddenly his sight is limited by the pig palm plastered on his helmet. Red plastic and metal crack under the pressure of those fingers. Then it starts breaking, sharp pieces dig into Jason's face and he feels short electric shock, before he goes blind. Jason feels pathetic, kicking and wriggling in iron hold. Like a kid. _'Just a child'_... He reaches to the knife on his hip and then blindly buries it into alien's forearm. But to no avail except for a little shift of the hand which allowed Jason to break free. Jason literally tears what left of the helmet from his face, not caring for the damage. All he can feel is frantic pulse of the ring and wild rage. Any clear thought is drowned, but his reflexes don't fail him.  
At first holds his own. But then he notices that energy is leaving him, anger is drained out quicker than it fills him. This guy is so much stronger. And so much more experienced. Finally, Jason is pinned to the ground, he can hear his bone creak, but doesn't feel much. The ground underneath is cold and wet and smells familiar. Tastes familiar. It's somehow soothing.

"Not bad," laughs Atrocitus, content with Jason's effort. "We shall see each other soon, young Lantern," he promises and Jason doesn't look up to see his new 'boss' or whatever fly away.

Red light of his ring becomes dimmer. Disoriented and drained Jason finds himself staring at the tombstone. He's lying on his own grave. Well, the irony isn't lost to him. Ha-ha. Ha! Ha-ha-ha! God, it hurts. It fucking hurts. 'It only hurts when you laugh...' Oh, Jason remembers and it hurts even more that mad clown was right. Laughter grows loud, maniac, hysterical... At least this joke is kind of funny.

He sits up and reads 'Jason Peter Todd', dates of his birth and the very first death. Grabbing a handful of black soil he remembers with scary clearness how he dug himself out of here, flaying off his nails and breaking fingers. Before these images came to him only in his restless dreams and never ending nightmares. The red liquid is still dripping from his mouth. The taste is strange, but addictive. Jason wipes his mouth with his fingers and starts sliding it on the cold stone surface over the letters and numbers. In the end the message is burnt, barely visible and only those who look close would see it. But it's fine. It's not for the world to see. It's just a note Jason has made for himself, to not forget. Three simple but important words.

_JASON WAS HERE_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you see I haven't given up on this yet. But man... writing is hard. But I'm so inexplicably glad that so many seem to love this story, I'll keep trying.

First riot in Blackgate, Jason gone missing or maybe dead, and now Joker escaped Arkham. It's just unfair how his twisted mind always finds a way out of this every time more secure cell.

The man that is being led out of the cell isn't Joker. It's a janitor that didn't show up few days ago. His face is painted white and green wig is literally stitched to his scalp. Dick has a feeling they won't find out how exactly it happened any time soon. With Joker you can never guess. Officer Grayson sneaks out before police arrives to avoid explaining what a Bludhaven policeman is doing in Arkham.

All the road back to the Wayne manor Dick's head is in chaotic mess of thought and ideas, he can barely concentrate on only one. He can't even say what exactly he feels. Meeting with Officer Coleman shook his nerves more than he expected. And then Joker. What if Dick didn't notice? It was just a sudden guess after all, he would gladly pass the cell without even looking. Yet better than learning this a hard way, like they no doubt would.

Dick is suddenly snapped out from his thoughts when he almost hits a pedestrian. He brakes hard, but tall guy in a hoody doesn't even turn his head as he crosses the street. Jesus...

Confused and internally beating himself up, Dick looks at his nearly crash victim who nonchalantly keeps walking, minding his step and nothing else. If only for a second, he can swear it's Jason. And this second is enough to pull over quickly, get out the car and follow the stranger. Dick is walking fast but the guy seems to have noticed him and speeds up, not much, but Dick will have to run if he hopes to catch up with him. So he does. And so does the other.

“I didn’t do it, Officer!” yells the guy cheerfully and disappears into the alley around the next corner.

And the long narrow alley is empty when Dick gets there in seconds. And as far as Dick can tell there is nowhere to hide if only you can’t jump up three floors, because only there the windows are not boarded up.

_Ok, Dick, calm down…_

He finally catches his breath and tries to rationalize. Maybe the guy has gone to the sewers? But why would he? Dick understands why he would run but to use such drastic measures? Unless he’s a wanted criminal. Still… it’s just a hunch, but Dick is certain that’s not the case.

And his voice…. The way he shouted it… just so like… Jason. Jason teased him over the phone once, when Dick only started working in the Bludhaven police (and not long before Jason’s death): “I didn’t do it, Officer!” Dick can’t remember what it was all about. Jason did something, which was innocent enough like broke a plate or… no, he can’t remember at all.

Even more upset and almost having convinced himself he had some delusion just now, Dick gets back into the car. He clutches the wheel and resists banging his head against it. No. He’s had enough creepy and crazy stuff for today.

* * *

  "The Joker..." Dick starts as soon as he gets to the Batcave.

"I know," of course Bruce already knows. "What about Coleman?"

What could he say? That man didn't make any sense, though one thing he said still bothers Dick.

"Whatever really happened after Jefferson left the showers... it scared Coleman to death. He was talking about fire and devil..." he said devil took Jason. "I start to think... what if Scarecrow was involved? Something caused all that violence... I know FBI and police found no evidence of fear gas usage or any other, but it couldn't be natural."

It wasn't the first riot in Blackgate, but it certainly was the bloodiest. No one demanded anything. They just fought without any obvious purpose.

Bruce looks pensive, while Tim speaks:

"Scarecrow? We haven't heard of him for months, he went underground and disappeared after his escape from Arkham. But yes, he crossed my mind, too."

"What Coleman said about the burnt corpse?" interrupts Bruce.

Dick closes his eyes, recalling the conversation. There is no sane way to put it, so he says what he heard.

"He said there was a monster. The devil. His words, not mine," he adds noticing the look on Bruce's face. "Said, that devil appeared after Jason... 'died', then he burnt down that inmate who survived the fight, took Jason's body and left... Look, I know how it sounds, but that what Coleman thinks he saw."

 _Red and black and fire…_ Well, if that really did happen, anyone would go nuts on the spot. Despite all sorts of crap Dick was unlucky to witness during his life, he is reluctant to believe in it. Could it be some aliens?

“Sure you don’t want ask the League for help?” Dick asks and wonders why he didn’t think of it before, but isn’t surprised Bruce hasn’t done it yet. “If what happened in Blackgate repeats on the streets… it will be a disaster.”

Thing is: Batman wasn’t there and didn’t know what was happening. Nobody knew until it was too late. Nor the police, nor Oracle, nor anyone else. Blood spilled, people died (criminals or not). Bruce is anything but stupid. He has to realize how big this deal is, bigger than his own issues. But he doesn’t speak and his silence is eloquent as always. And when he does he doesn’t answer Dick’s question.

“Capturing the Joker before he deep goes into hiding is our priority. As for Crane and… we’ll keep our eyes opened.”

In the end Dick can’t find it in him to share with Bruce the story of his little adventure. Would it change his decision to not actively search for Jason? Unlikely. It probably was nothing. But Dick can’t stop the words spilling when Alfred pours him a cup of tea in the kitchen.

“I think I saw Jason today,” it comes out muffled as he lays his head on his folded arms on the table.

There is silence, Alfred places the pot back without making a sound.

“ _You think_ , Master Richard?” old butler repeats.

This is unfair and Dick is aware of it. Jason had always been somewhat special for Alfred, perhaps he was Alfred’s favorite even. Dick would be jealous, but one has to be a complete fool to envy Jason, all things considered.

“I don’t know… Part of me is sure it was him, another part is sure that I caught some crazy in Arkham,” bad joke. Only it really could happen: that place has a tendency of making mental illnesses contagious.

“You seem rather sane to me, Master Richard,” assures him Alfred. “You may have mistaken. There are a lot of people in Gotham.”

“But that guy, Al… his height, built, the way he walked and ran… I didn’t see his face, but I heard his voice. I tried to catch him, but he just vanished. Like a ghost,” he says emptily.

Alfred sighs and takes a seat in front of Dick.

“I assume you didn’t tell Master Bruce,” Alfred is insightful as ever.

“I honestly have no idea how to talk to Bruce when he is like that,” admits Dick. Tim is better at it.

“Drink your tea, Master Richard,” suggests Alfred. And who is Dick to argue.

 


End file.
